Page 4 of Brought By the Storm

Chapter Three

Carrington

Once Eric Turner showed us the rooms where we’d be lodging, he descended the stairs with the bed linens and towels to put them through the wash. That left me alone with Stefan, who was in security mode, peering out through the bedroom windows to ensure the perimeter was secured.

Mr. Turner was young, and I was wondering what his occupation could be that he could afford this home. Although it was modest compared to anything I had ever lived in, I had traveled the world enough to know it was many steps above what the average citizen could afford—even in America. Perhaps it was his age that grated on me. It was embarrassing to be beholden to a man who looked no older than a recent college graduate. He seemed sweet and, by any objective person’s assessment, cute to the point of adorable. Those traits emphasized his youth, making me feel even more inadequate about needing his help for mere survival.

My mother came out of her guest room and into ours, a scowl on her face. I imagined she was unhappy with the quarters she was assigned. At least she wouldn’t have to share a bed with someone.

“Mother, it may not be on par with our most recent accommodations, but it’s quite nice for a middle-class home. Keep in mind, you were the one who made this arrangement, and it’s safer than staying at a school or a hotel lobby where any number of people could recognize us.”

“That’s why you think I’m upset? Carrington, I am so disappointed with you right now,” she declared. Then, looking at Stefan, she added, “Both of you.”

“Disappointed? Why?” I asked, though I imagined it related to her earlier comments about my manners, or lack thereof.

My mother crossed her arms and frowned. “Don’t be daft. It’s unbecoming, as your behavior has been all day. I know you’re concerned about what’s happening, but it’s unlike you to treat someone this way. This young man has been gracious, and I meant it when I told him his home is charming. It reminds me of where I grew up, unlike the grandeur you’ve always been surrounded by. Instead of showing him gratitude, you’ve acted like his purpose is to serve you—and that he’s failing. If I were him, I would have asked us to leave. Instead, he’s on the main level freshening linens for us. What he must be thinking!”

Stefan, who had been quiet throughout the excursion, defended us before I could. “With all due respect, madam, we have no idea whether Mr. Turner can be trusted.”

My mother waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Rubbish. How would he have known we would stop at that food mart for lunch? How did he just happen to be standing nearby when the driver decided he wouldn’t proceed with our travels?”

Stefan wasn’t swayed. “The driver could have been an operative from the start. He was the one who suggested where we stop for lunch, if you recall. He could have signaled Mr. Turner when and where to be so he could secure us in his custody.”

“Stefan, Mr. Turner offered us a ride, which my son shot down. Carrington said that Mr. Turner was ready to let us venture on our own at that point. It wasn’t until I approached Mr. Turner that he made the offer to stay at his house. How would he know I would go to him? If Carrington hadn’t told me what happened, we would have left that store and been on our way. To where, I have no clue. Not to mention, if the limousine driver had been part of a plot to harm Carrington, why didn’t he do it during the ninety minutes he had us confined from Boston to this town? Why would he orchestrate an elaborate scheme to pass us to someone else? On top of that, Mr. Turner doesn’t look the part of some undercover hooligan.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Stefan countered.

“And your speculations are far-fetched. Nothing has transpired that would support your scenario.”

Stefan pondered for a moment, but nodded. “Okay, I agree. Mr. Turner might just be a clueless chump, but we should remain guarded.”

“Stefan! What has possessed the two of you? A clueless chump? The man is a saint, and you’d do well to remember that when you dine on his food this evening and sleep in his guest quarters afterward. After the way we’ve treated him, I’d be embarrassed for our country to tell him where we’re from.”

Remembering my position and my duty to represent our country, I felt a wave of shame. Of course, she was correct. I had been letting my frustration, safety concerns and feelings of inadequacy drive my actions, which had been insufferable at best. Before Stefan could antagonize my mother further, I interceded. “Yes, you’re quite right. Our behavior was inexcusable. I’ll apologize to him.”

My mother’s posture relaxed a bit. “Well, that’s a start. And stop being so critical. Whatever this man has, I’m sure he worked hard for, and wounding his pride is not who you are.”

I looked around the room once more, beginning to appraise it with an unbiased eye. I had to admit it was tasteful, albeit sparse. Everything about the house had simple lines and décor, typical of middle-class homes in eighteenth-century America. Mr. Turner seemed intent on embracing the fact that his home was an architectural reproduction, and it shamed me once more that I had mocked his heritage.

“How are two grown men going to sleep on that bed?” Stefan pondered. “It’s too narrow.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be difficult for two people in a romantic relationship,” my mother snapped. I assumed her sarcasm meant she didn’t believe we’d shown appropriate contrition.

“Of all the things to come up with, you came up with us being…homosexual lovers?” Stefan complained to me.

“One of you can sleep on the floor,” my mother scolded. “But when you’re outside this room, you two had better behave like you’re in love now that you’ve put that notion in Mr. Turner’s head. You’ve already said and done enough to raise his suspicions without adding to them.”

“I guess on the bright side, if he thinks we’re a couple, he won’t proposition one of us,” Stefan conceded.

“You can’t be serious, Stefan. After the way you two have been behaving, I’m sure he has no interest in either of you,” she chided. My mother then focused a critical glare on me. “Now, I’ll be going downstairs in a few minutes to keep our host company. I expect you will precede me to extend your apologies?” She turned to exit, making it clear it wasn’t a question.